Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

humor by the wayside, until a more appropriate time.” He heard the snap in his voice, but made no apology. To apologize would be to dishonor the wounded . . . and Grace.
    Conlan‟s gaze rested upon him for a moment, considering, and then the prince nodded.
    “Alexios is right. But again I must ask, who is this we to whom you refer? We have heard of no human investigation into the Apostates.”
    “If you‟d heard of us, it would mean we weren‟t doing our jobs,” Tiernan retorted. “We‟re investigative reporters, and we work underground. We gather sources, facts, and solid evidence. Then and only then do we take the story live. This is going to be the biggest story of my career when it breaks.”
    Alexios decided to try a bluff. “We‟ve heard of you, too, reporter. We‟ve heard that you‟re a glory seeker who thinks Pulitzer is her middle name. We‟ve heard you‟re unreliable and sloppy. Why would we possibly want to work with you?”
    For a split second, so quickly that Alexios almost missed it, Tiernan‟s dark eyes went hazy and unfocused. “That is a lie,” she said, her voice almost eerily calm. “You have never heard of me, and you haven‟t heard of my investigation, either. You don‟t know who to trust, and you‟re worried about your friend.
    “There‟s more,” she said, turning toward Conlan. “You‟re afraid that whatever he did—Justice—with or to that archaeologist is going to have repercussions for Atlantis. Terrible repercussions.”
    Suddenly she blinked and shuddered a little, like a water bird shaking droplets from its feathers, and pasted a grin on her suddenly pale face. “Don‟t bluff a poker player.”
    A heavy silence freighted the air. Something odd had just happened, but Alexios wasn‟t sure what. All of his senses were telling him that Tiernan was merely human.
    Then again, so were Quinn and Riley. Human and aknasha’an . Emotional empaths after thousands of years. Erin—a gem singer. No one was surprised by the merely odd anymore.
    “All right, let‟s operate on the assumption that you‟re telling the truth,” Conlan said. He pointed at the map. “Show us.”
    In rapid succession, Tiernan pointed to a dozen heavily populated areas. “All of these. The cult of Algolagnia is recruiting heavily. Unfortunately, their version of recruiting is a lot more like what we would call the draft.”
    Ven swore viciously under his breath in ancient Atlantean, no doubt in deference to Tiernan.
    Regardless of the language, however, the meaning was clear. “So what you‟re saying—”
    “Is that it‟s not voluntary,” Tiernan finished his sentence. “Not very many people, no matter what you think of us humans, sign up to have their brains turned into mashed potatoes.”
    “Vivid imagery, but how appropriate is the analogy?” Conlan asked. “Are you saying Anubisa and her acolytes are enthralling the humans? As distasteful as that is, it‟s a temporary measure. We have seen this for centuries. Indeed, millennia.”
    “There is nothing temporary about this,” Tiernan said ad amantly. “We have evidence of actual permanent distortion of brain patterns. We‟ve got brain surgeons, neurologists, and neuropsychiatrists working with us. MRIs of the brains of affected individuals are far, far different than scans of people merely suffering from temporary enthrallment.”
    She paused, staring at each one of them in turn, as if to emphasize her point. “Anubisa is creating an army of human minions with shattered minds, who will never, ever be able to return to themselves. She‟s playing Sudoku with our brains, and somebody‟s got to stop it.”
    Unless she was an actress far better than any Alexios had ever seen on the stage, Tiernan was telling the truth. The passion and pain in her voice had nearly caused it to break, but there was steel in the woman. Steel honed in outrage rather than fire, perhaps, but steel nonetheless.
    “Shattered minds can be healed,” Conlan said.
    Ven stared at him. “The Star of Artemis? But that‟s—”
    Conlan made a subtle hand gesture, cutting his brother off mid-thought.
    Ven narrowed his eyes, but complied. Then he slammed his fist on the table, startling them all. “It‟s always back to her,” he snarled. “How is the universe so out of balance that Poseidon sits idly by and lets the vampire goddess roll the dice with the futures of three races?”
    “You speak blasphemy, I feel compelled to point out, even though I